TW: Graphic violence, body horror
***
Darkness swallowed the room.
The dim, flickered as the machines in the cluttered room hummed softly, punctuated by the faint hiss of escaping gas. At the center of the chaos stood Li Weiran, a man as disheveled and unkempt as the room around him. His once-immaculate white lab coat was stained with dried blood and soot, the cuffs frayed from countless sleepless nights.
Weiran's hands trembled as he held up a syringe, the viscous, iridescent liquid inside glinting under the weak light. It wasn't supposed to come to this. The whispers of his colleagues, the sharp criticism of his peers, the cold condemnation of governments and ethics boards—none of it had mattered. They couldn't see what he saw. They couldn't understand.
"Short-sighted fools," he muttered, his voice hoarse. His throat ached as if rebellion had grown there alongside his despair. "They reject progress, but the future doesn't wait for permission."
The compound inside the syringe was alive—he could feel it, even now. It pulsed faintly, a rhythm that matched his own heartbeat, as though the serum were mocking him. A volatile hybrid of synthetic DNA, self-replicating proteins, and something else... something he could neither name nor fully understand.
It had taken him decades to create. And now, it would take him, too.
Weiran's gaze flickered to the pile of letters scattered on the desk beside him. Crimson stamps labeled them REJECTED in bold, unyielding letters. "Unethical." "A violation of human rights." "An affront to natural law." The words burned in his memory. He'd read them so many times they had become a mantra, a reminder of what he'd sacrificed to get this far.
His name had once commanded respect in scientific circles, whispered in awe by ambitious students and envious rivals alike. But no one remembered the contributions. No one remembered the breakthroughs. All they remembered was the scandal: the human trials that never gained approval, the footage of his labs being raided, and the news anchors labeling him a madman.
A hollow laugh escaped his lips. "Madman. Perhaps they weren't wrong."
His eyes shifted to the mirror on the far side of the room. The reflection stared back at him, gaunt and haggard. His once-sharp jawline was obscured by weeks of unkempt stubble, and dark circles hollowed his eyes.
Weiran walked to the center of the lab, where a reinforced operating chair awaited. It had been designed for experiments on others, but now, it would bear the weight of its creator. He hesitated, fingers brushing the cold metal of the armrests. The room seemed to hold its breath as though the very walls knew what was about to happen.
"You've run out of options, Li Weiran," he whispered to himself. "If no one else will take the leap, then..." His voice faltered. He inhaled sharply, as though pulling courage from the stale air around him. "Then I'll do it myself."
He strapped himself into the chair with methodical precision, each motion deliberate and practiced. He'd imagined this moment a thousand times. The syringes. The electrodes. The monitors ready to record what no human eyes had seen before. The result of his life's work.
The serum gleamed as he lifted it again, his reflection distorted in the curve of the syringe. This is it. No turning back.
As the needle pierced his skin, Weiran's mind flooded with past, almost forgotten memories: the laughter of his younger sister before she fell ill, the sterile hallways of the research institute where he had spent his youth, the first time he had held a microscope. And then, those memories blurred, replaced by a searing, agonising pain.
The injection site burned like acid flowing through his veins. He gritted his teeth, choking back a scream as the serum spread through his body. His muscles spasmed violently, his vision swimming in red and black. Somewhere in the distance, alarms blared..
"Not... like this..." The words barely escaped his lips.
The transformation began slowly, but it was undeniable. His skin bubbled and warped, taking on a grotesque texture that shimmered unnaturally under the lab's light. His veins bulged, dark tendrils spreading across his body. With each second, he felt his body unraveling, breaking apart on a molecular level and reforming into... something else.
His screams echoed in the lab, raw and primal, drowning out the machines around him. Bones cracked and tangled themselves, only to shatter again moments later. His organs felt as though they were being devoured from within. The metallic tang of blood filled the air as viscera splattered across the room, painting the walls.
Weiran's mind teetered on the edge of madness. He clawed at the restraints, his fingernails ripping free from their beds. The pain was indescribable, but beneath it, he felt something awakening. Something ancient. Something... hungry.
And then, everything stopped.
He opened his eyes—or at least, he thought he did. He was no longer in the lab. The world around him was a void. There was no up, no down, no light or darkness, only a sense of vast emptiness that stretched beyond comprehension.
In the silence, a voice spoke.
"You sought immortality, Li Weiran. You sought power beyond the grasp of mortals. And now, I offer you... another chance."
The voice was neither male nor female, neither cruel nor kind. It was everything and nothing. It resonated in his very bones.
"What... do you want from me?" he rasped, his voice barely audible.
"Everything."
And with that single word, the void consumed him.
***
Li Weiran awoke with a gasp, his chest heaving as if he'd been suffocating. Cold air filled his lungs, sharp and metallic, burning on its way down. His hands flailed against wet, uneven cobblestones, the slickness of grime smearing his palms. His head throbbed with an intensity that felt like his skull might split apart.
For a moment, he thought he was back in the lab—that the serum's effects were tearing him apart from the inside, shredding him on a molecular level. But as he forced his bleary eyes open, the sight that met him was… wrong.
Above him loomed a city that shouldn't exist. Towers of soot-streaked steel and cracked glass jutted into a yellowed, smoke-choked sky. The faint churn of gears and the clatter of automaton footsteps echoed through the smog. He wasn't in his lab—hell, he wasn't even on Earth anymore.
Bridges hung like spiderwebs between the spires, their supports creaking under the weight of steam-powered carriages and lumbering automatons. Grinding gears and distant, distorted voices filled the air, a soundscape alien to his ears
.His fingers brushed his face, and he froze.
The sharp, angular jaw he felt wasn't his.
He staggered to his feet, his hands brushing against rough cobblestone slick with filth. A chill crept up his spine as he caught his reflection in a puddle at his feet. The face that stared back wasn't his own. The soft plain features of Li Weiran were gone, replaced by someone unfamiliar. His jawline was sharper, his cheekbones gaunt. Hollow eyes peered back at him, and his hair was a wild, ash-streaked mess.
"What… what the hell?" he rasped, his voice scratchy and unfamiliar. He recoiled from the puddle, heart pounding. His breaths came faster, shallower, panic curling through his chest.
[System Initialising…]
A cold voice echoed in his mind, cutting through his panic.
[Welcome, Host.]
[Designation: Adrastos Kain.]
Weiran stilled. His lips parted to protest, but the words caught in his throat. "Adrastos?" he whispered, the name unfamiliar, heavy on his tongue. "That's… that's not me. I'm Li Weiran. I'm—"
The system ignored him, its dispassionate voice continuing.
[Current Status: Condemned.]
[Commencing Trial of Survival.]
Before he could ask what any of that meant, a deafening roar erupted around him. He scrambled to his feet. Rows of iron railings framed an arena packed with spectators that he couldn't quite see but could definitely hear. They cheered and jeered, their voices rising enough to make his stomach churn.
This is some sort of hallucination. I'm hallucinating. He tried to reason with himself, forcing his breathing to slow. The injection. The mutation. I must be comatose, dreaming. Yes, that's it. Or dead—maybe I'm dead. But this… He trailed off, his thoughts spiralling.
He takes a breath. No. Think, Weiran. Think.
Condemned. Trial of Survival. The pieces didn't fit, yet they grated against his mind. He was used to questions—questions were the foundation of science, after all—but here, there were no equations to solve, no logic to guide him. He clenched his fists, trying to steady his thoughts.
"Think, think," he whispered to himself, his voice hoarse. "This is... no. This is not possible. Transmigration? Alternate worlds? That's fiction. It violates—"
The crowd above the pit roared even louder, snapping him from his spiral. Adrastos—or rather, Weiran—looked up, his new eyes struggling to adjust to the amber smog and shifting lights. Now that he could see properly he noticed that the spectators looked quite… odd? The people, if they could be called that, swathed in tattered silks and steam-choked gas masks, looking nothing like what humans usually looked like on his earth.
A booming voice followed, amplified by a crackling speaker: "Citizens of Cindralis! By the decree of the Council, the heretic and bastard prince Adrastos Kain will face his judgment. Witness as the condemned meets the justice of the Labyrinth God!"
The words sparked something buried deep in his mind—half-formed memories. Adrastos Kain. Accused of sorcery. Condemned for treason. Betrayed by someone he had trusted. The images flickered and vanished, leaving behind only questions.
Weiran forced himself to his feet, the reality of his situation taking shape. This wasn't a hallucination. Whatever serum he'd injected into himself, whatever mutation he had undergone—this wasn't its side effect. This was something else entirely.
[Trial Parameters: Defeat the Labyrinth Beast. Time Remaining: 00:03:15.]
Weiran's—or rather Adrastos's—vision blurred as the system's cold, detached text scrolled across his mind. "Trial? What trial? What kind of sick—"
His word's died in his throat as a low growl rumbled through the arena, vibrating the stones beneath him.
Slowly, Adrastos turned toward the massive iron gate at the far end of the pit. It rattled violently, the chains holding it back groaning as though under protest.
When the gate finally swung open, the air grew thick with the stench of decay. From the darkness emerged a creature stitched together from his nightmares.
It was a grotesque combination of flesh and steel. Its body was sinewy and misshapen, scales rippling over patchwork fur. Tubes of liquid glowed faintly beneath its translucent skin, and its maw dripped with black ichor that hissed as it struck the cobblestones. Its glowing green eyes fixed on him with predatory intent, and it let out a guttural snarl that reverberated in his chest.
"Is this some kind of joke?" Adrastos whispered, his voice trembling. "They expect me to fight that?"
His thoughts raced, dragging him back to science—the one thing he trusted. Okay. Break it down. Focus.
"Energy output. Muscle mass. Centre of gravity. Weak points." He muttered, his gaze darting over the creature's massive form. His breathing slowed, controlled now. Then came the realisation that stopped him cold.
He had no tools. No weapons. No resources. Only himself.
And then the system spoke again.
[Warning: Host's survival probability is less than 12%. Recommend immediate activation of Essence Devourer.]
The system's words snapped him out of his spiralling thoughts. "Essence Devourer?" he repeated, his voice rising. "What the hell is that?"
[Ability Unlocked: Essence Devourer.]
[Activation Requirement: Blood Consumption.]
[Warning: Ability activation will cause extreme pain. Prolonged usage accelerates Host's degradation.]
"Blood consumption?" Adrastos's voice cracked as he processed the words. "What am I, some kind of... no. No. This isn't me. This is not me!"
The beast lunged. Adrastos barely had time to dive out of the way, the claws raking the air where he'd stood moments before. The crowd erupted into cheers as blood splattered the ground—his blood. A deep gash opened across his side, soaking his shirt in crimson.
The pain was sharp, but it brought clarity. He stared at the blood dripping onto the cobblestones, and his stomach churned.
"This isn't happening," he muttered, his voice shaking. "You're Li Weiran. You're a scientist. You're not a killer. You—"
Another swipe, closer this time. The creature wasn't going to wait for him to sort his identity crisis.
The system's warning echoed in his mind again: Blood consumption required.
"Damn it all," he hissed, his hands trembling as he dipped his fingers into the fresh wound on his side. He hesitated only a moment before bringing the blood to his lips.
The moment the crimson liquid touched his tongue, fire erupted in his veins. He screamed, a guttural, primal sound that tore through the arena and silenced the crowd.
It felt like every cell in his body was ripping apart and reassembling at once, his nerves set ablaze with agonising heat. He dropped to his knees, clutching his chest as his pulse thundered in his ears. His vision blurred, edges flickering between light and darkness.
Then came the hunger.
It wasn't hunger in the way he'd known it before. It was something deeper, a gnawing void that demanded to be filled. His eyes locked onto the beast, and in that moment, it wasn't just an opponent—it was sustenance.
Instinct took over. Adrastos staggered to his feet, his trembling hand outstretched. The air grew heavy around him, the faint hum of energy vibrating through his skin. A part of him—logical, analytical—registered the phenomenon. Resonant frequencies. Bioelectric discharge. Energy transfer? The thoughts crumbled as the hunger surged forward, drowning reason.
The beast froze mid-charge, its snarls turning to shrieks as its body convulsed violently. Dark tendrils of energy pulled at its form, siphoning something invisible and vital. Adrastos could feel it flooding into him—raw, unrefined power that mended his wounds and strengthened his limbs.
But it wasn't just power. It was memory. Emotion. Essence.
Flashes of the beast's life—or whatever counted as life for such a creature—flooded his mind. The hunts. The kills. The endless, gnawing hunger. It was too much. Too loud. Too wrong.
Adrastos dropped to his knees, panting. The beast collapsed behind him, its form lifeless. The crowd erupted into chaos, their cheers mingling with cries of horror.
"Who… am I?" Adrastos whispered, his voice barely audible. His reflection in the blood-slicked cobblestones answered him—a face that wasn't his own, eyes glowing faintly with a monstrous light.
The system's voice returned, cold and clinical.
[Trial Complete. Survival Secured. Welcome to Delkarya, Sovereign.]